


It Is What It Is

by TheOneWorthLeaving



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: AU, F/M, New York City AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneWorthLeaving/pseuds/TheOneWorthLeaving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt and his best friend Ann Perkins live in New York City.  Ben is only focused on his job, but everything changes when he meets April Ludgate.   April/Ben.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Months

This party was way too cool for Ben Wyatt. And sure, most parties were too cool for Ben, with the exception of the Settlers of Catan tournament he attended a few months ago. That, he dominated. This, not so much. 

Here, in the Upper East Side apartment with the loft, amidst obscure indie electronica playing in an impressively seamless mix on expensive speakers, he had to remind himself why he came to these things. He had spent his first few months in New York City working from day till night, seeing the city only through the frame of his office window. Then, one day he realized that he hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of work besides his best friend, Ann, and the swarthy guy at the deli counter down the street. 

There was a reason, of course. Even now, as he took a nervous swig of beer that he didn’t really want, he wished he could just hole up in his apartment and marathon Arrow or Sense8. 

Somehow, in spite of the days in Partridge when things were going well, he never knew how to handle himself among strangers. It wasn’t the first time that Ben wondered how he had been elected in the first place. Had he always been this unsure and anxious? Or had this way of being emerged after Ice Town, like a defective cell turned cancerous by a reckless intake of carcinogens?

Whatever the past was, right now he desperately wished Ann was here to rescue him from these tortured conversations, these ritualistic exchanges of professional information that everyone pretended to be interested in. Of course, Ann would probably just insist that the point of this was to make new friends, and shove him off into some other uncomfortable exchange. Stuff like that always irked him, not because she did it, but because she was usually right. 

But still, this sucked. He had gotten stuck talking to the guy, maybe 23 or 24, in the pre-faded hoodie leaning against the exposed brick wall. The man avoided looking up from his phone with a religious devotion. “So how do you know Sophie?” the guy asked, eyes locked into a downward gaze on his screen.

“She works in my office,” Ben said. Sophie, the impossibly hip intern with the cool glasses and side shave, had invited the entire office to the party, though he seemed to be the only one who showed up. Another faux pas. Oh well.

“Hey!” Sophie said to him, making her way through the growing crowd. “You met my boss Ben. Did you know he used to be a mayor of his hometown? He was like 17 or something. Can you believe that?”

Ben felt defensive against an implication he wasn’t sure he understood. “I was 18,” he corrected.

Sophie seemed to sense his discomfort. “Now Ben heads up the fiscal responsibility division of Queens,” she said. “He reports to the Mayor. It’s a pretty important job.”

“‘Fiscal responsibility.’ So you cut funding to stuff?” the man drawled. “That’s cool.” His tone wasn’t remotely convincing. 

“Well, actually I make recommendations—“

“Oh my God this party is lame,” and Ben flinched as a slender dark-haired woman interrupted them brusquely. “What are you guys talking about?”

The guy across from him didn’t look up from his phone. “The city budget,” he said.

“Fascinating,” the woman said with an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows.

“Actually,” Ben spoke up, mustering a little excitement within himself, “we’ve just gotten the go-ahead to include future city bond revenue in our fund pool, so things are gonna get _pretty_ shaken up.”

“Buckle your seatbelts!” the woman said, in what Ben now recognized as faux-excitement. 

“Ah,” he said wryly. “What’s your name?”

“April Ludgate.” For a moment he waited for her to ask his name, but she didn’t, instead only glancing around to see if there was anything more interesting going on. In the awkward pause, he tried to avoid taking another drink from his beer, tried not to give in to the way she unsettled him. He failed: “That’s a cool name,” he said, wishing the words would evaporate as soon as they left his mouth.

She just glared at him, almost offended by his uncouthness.

“Oh, I can totally see how you were a mayor,” the guy mumbled sarcastically. 

Ben tried not to let his irritability show. “So how about this music?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

“It’s OK,” she said shortly.

The guy beside them chuckled. “April’s the one who made the playlist for tonight,” he said blankly.

“Really?” Ben said. “I think it’s good. It seems like you put a lot of work into it.”

“God, it’s OK,” April said, looking at her shoes.

Ben watched her fidget for a moment, wondering what her deal was. Eventually he cleared his throat. “So what do you do?” Ben asked.

“I catalogue fetal rats at the city morgue,” she said.

“Oh my God, really?” Ben looked horrified.

April grimaced. Something told Ben that she hated answering these questions at parties almost as much as he did. “Whatever,” she mumbled beneath her breath, before speaking up: “I coordinate a mentorship program in Queens.” 

“Oh, that’s really cool.”

April shrugged. 

“You don’t like it?” Ben asked. “I thought it would be really rewarding – helping people find what they care about.”

“Yeah, that’s—“ April started. “I mean, it’s something to do,” she covered.

“Sorry,” Ben pulled away, “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

April brushed it off. “It’s whatever,” she said. But she didn’t meet his eye.

Ben realized then that, despite her façade of apathy, despite fitting in with all of these hipsters, she was just as anxious about situations like this as he was. 

He should have known better than to grill a stranger on what she really cared about. After all, he got it. There are times when passion only blows up in your face, and it’s better to cram it down where it can’t breathe. Because after a while, you just get used to it.

“I think it’s great, what you do,” Ben tried to make amends, “That’s something the city really needs.”

“Well, sucks for the city,” April shrugged, “since I’m transferring to D.C. in August.”

“Oh,” Ben said, and felt almost disappointed. 

In the pause, the warm May air, freshened by Central Park, drifted through the open windows of the 9th story apartment.

“Did you know Ben was a mayor once, when he was like 17?” The guy told April, bored. 

“I was 18,” Ben couldn’t help but correct him, no matter how he wanted to not talk about it.

“And now he cuts the budget for all of Queens.”

“I make recommendations,” Ben corrected in vain.

“Wait,” April said, “are you the reason the city mentorship program is having their budget cut?”

“No, I don’t--” Ben said.

“That’s so messed up,” April said. 

“Again, _no_ ,” Ben said. 

“This guy’s all about fiscal responsibility,” said the guy looking at his phone.

“You are?” April’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Yeah, but—“

“He cuts the city’s programs,” the guy said.

“Oh my God, please stop!” Ben yelled, suddenly on the verge of losing it. “Yes, I’m a budget specialist. And yes, that means cutting some programs. But that doesn’t automatically mean I want take the disadvantaged people in this city and hang them out to dry. I know, it’s the conservatives who trot out the word ‘fiscal responsibility,’ and somehow everyone has just accepted that they own that. That’s wrong. Financial responsibility is something every government should strive for; it’s a promise to the people not to waste money, because it’s _their_ money. That’s what democracy means. Politicians love talking about ‘fiscal responsibility,’ but all they mean is programs they don’t like. But there are disadvantaged people all over this city who depend on programs, and they’re not going to get the help they need if the government goes into the red. The homeless shelters, the equal housing bureau, the mentorship program, all of them. Yeah, I care about fiscal responsibility. But that’s because every penny wasted is one penny fewer for the people who really need it. And that’s who I work for.”

Ben was suddenly conscious of April’s eyes on him, and Sophie’s, and the half of the room who had heard his rant. The guy across from him was watching him, phone at his side.

April looked up, and said quietly, “I can see why you were mayor once.”

For the first time in a long time, Ben could, too. It was nice to be reminded.

In the pause, he watched April’s dark, beautiful eyes, filled with something he didn’t quite understand, but wanted to. 

“You said you’re planning to leave in August?” 

“Yeah,” she said. 

He used the last bit of momentum he could muster. “Then I guess I have three months to convince you to stay.”


	2. Best/Worst

“Come on, I’m starving,” Ann pleaded in the doorway of Ben’s office.

“Hang on,” Ben said, finishing typing the memo he was working on. 

“No calzones, though, OK?”

“You know,” Ben said exasperated, not looking up, “you eat _pizza_ all the time…”

“That’s different. Come on, I only have an hour for lunch and the M was late again, and… Oh my God, are you still writing those memos?”

“Maybe,” Ben said, doing one last proofread.

“The whole point of having an assistant is to keep stuff like this off your plate. It’s stressful.”

“Okay,” Ben said, looking up for the first time, “let’s see how well that works.” He called out the door: “Craig?”

Ann looked behind her, waiting a moment. There was no sign of his assistant. She turned back to Ben. “Does he—“

“ _What is it?!_ ” Craig barged in and Ann jumped back.

“I need you to write a memo to Statistics telling them to factor in revenue loss from the winter dip in tourism.”

“How do those people not know that by now? We should fire them and flog them in the streets! Oh God, now I’m too angry to type! Do you see what this does to me?!” He stormed off.

“This is after you got him that chamomile tea?” Ann asked. 

“Yep,” Ben said, getting up and pulling Ann into a side hug as they left.

* * * 

“The Craig thing doesn’t bother you?” Ann said as they found a vacated table by the window. 

“Nope,” Ben shrugged it off lightly, sitting down to his pho. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Ann observed, scrutinizing him. 

“You say that like it’s weird; I’m always in a good mood,” Ben frowned. 

“Sure Ice Town,” Ann rolled her eyes.

Ben couldn’t help but flinch a little. “Ha ha,” he said, with forced sarcasm. “Okay, best/worst.”

“Hmm,” Ann said between slurps, “worst is definitely listening to Katie from the ER complain endlessly about what a whiny tool her roommate is. Best is…” Ann paused, blushing, “that guy came back for another checkup. And I don’t know why, because the man is _fit_. His name is Chris. Hell, for a second I even contemplated starting to work out, just to have something to talk to him about.”

Ben made a face. “You, working out?”

“Well, just a little. Not like jogging or anything.”

“So,” Ben gestured, “did you get his number?”

“He didn’t offer,” Ann pouted.

“You could, I don’t know, ask. You know, you’re always telling me to go out of my comfort zone…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ann said, “Your turn.”

“Worst: a few days ago the neighbors watched _The Phantom Menace_ super loud. I can still feel Jar-Jar’s voice echoing in my skull. Best…” Ben tried to keep from smiling, and had to turn away. He hoped Ann was busy concentrating on her soup.

“Best?” Ann said, waiting.

“I…” Ben flushed, “I don’t know, so…”

“—Oh my God,” Ann said, enunciating each word, “You met someone.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ben said evasively.

“But you did! You, perpetually single workaholic Ben Wyatt, met someone.”

“Why do you— You don’t know if— I mean, who am I gonna meet?” 

“Did you meet her on the internet? Please tell me she’s not one of your _Game of Thrones_ roleplay friends.”

“What? No. Besides, everyone I roleplay _Game of Thrones_ with is a guy.”

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t experiment in college…”

“They’re not terribly attractive guys.”

“Okay,” Ann said, “but you _did_ meet someone.” 

Ben traced a figure-eight in his soup with his spoon. “It’s probably nothing. I mean, she’s cute. Well, actually ‘cute’ doesn’t describe her well at all. But she’s pretty. Like, _really_ pretty. She looks mean, but in kind of a hot way—”

“Move it along, Wyatt.”

“Okay, she’s pretty, and I like her, but nothing’s going to happen.”

“There’s the dour Ben Wyatt we all know,” Ann said. “Why not?”

“For one, she’s younger than I am.”

“How young?” Ann narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not sure, really. But she’s definitely younger. And besides, she’s got a job in D.C. coming up, so she’s probably leaving at the end of the summer.”

“Probably?” Ann said.

“I mean, she is. Look, it’s nothing to get excited about, okay? I’m just being realistic here. Yeah, I like her, but we’re in a very particular situation. It is what it is. There’s no point in putting myself out there and… you know.”

“Getting your heart broken?”

Ben shrugged.

Ann reached across the table, put her hand on Ben’s. “It’s gonna be okay, Ice Town.”

Ben smiled. “I know. But even though I really liked last night, I can’t get over the fact that she’s leaving. It makes the whole thing feel … hollowed out.”

“You know, not everything good is permanent, Ben.”

“I know.”

“Yeah but you don’t act like it. Maybe you should try not to let this pass you by. You know, make some memories of this mean-yet-hot girl who’s probably too young for you,” Ann said, taking her hand off Ben’s to pick up his spoon and steal a bit of his soup. 

“You have your own,” Ben frowned, indignant.

“I kind of wanted chicken,” Ann complained as she chewed.

Ben sighed. “What about you? If this Chris guy comes back, are you going to ask him out?”

Ann scrunched up her face. “Don’t try to turn this around on me, Wyatt.”

“It’s a little late for that. Seriously, are you going to ask him out or am I going to have to ask him out for you?”

“Yeah right, you’d end up ask him out for yourself.”

“You wish, then you’d have a great excuse for why you two aren’t together.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse! I’m just busy,” Ann said. “Besides – I don’t know what he thinks about me.”

“I could say the same about April.”

“April’s a ‘he’?” 

“God,” Ben said, grinning, “you’re the worst.”


	3. The Beginning

The next week, Sophie sent an e-mail to the office that she was having another party on Saturday. Any other day, and Ben’s first reflex would have been to come up with some reason for why he couldn’t make it. 

But ever since the first party he would find himself staring past his computer and off into the distance, distracted from work by thinking about her. He would see a dark-haired woman on the subway, only to find it wasn’t her. He would wonder what she thought of everything he saw, everyone he talked to.

April probably wouldn’t be at the party, so the whole idea was stupid. He’d have no one to talk to, and it could all end up as another evening of wasted energy and stupid hopes. 

But there was still a chance.

* * * 

Ben got to Sophie’s apartment door early. Because of course he did; it’s times like these where his anxiety overwhelmed his sense of social propriety.

So he ended up walking a couple of blocks to the nearest bookstore, looking at titles for half an hour, as if he’d have time to read anything. He checked his phone. The official party start time was fifteen minutes ago, but he had a feeling that if April showed up at all, she would get there at least forty-five minutes late.

He made it to half an hour before he couldn’t wait any longer, and he felt like a foolhardy teenager. But the feeling didn’t stop him.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ben to remember why his instinct was to get out of these things. It took everything not to spontaneously abandon in mid-sentence the conversation with some vaguely douchey hipster guy who was majoring in “New Media Studies.” (I mean, what the hell was that, anyway?) That’s when, finally, in his peripheral vision, he saw her. April was here, and she was sending him a lifeline in the form of blessed, almost intimate eye contact.

 _Help me_ , Ben mouthed to April.

She nodded quickly, and sidled over to them.

“Hey!” April said warmly to the man who had managed to trap Ben in an endless loop of inane discourse. “I’m so glad you’ve met Ben!”

“Yeah, he’s a cool guy,” the man said.

“He really is,” April smiled endearingly. “In fact, you guys have so much in common. Did you know that Ben also thinks the _Lord of the Rings_ movies are way better than the books?” 

“Actually—“ Ben started, but April sauntered off, flashing him a sinister glance over her shoulder.

“No way, really?” The guy said, turning back to Ben. “Man, I couldn’t agree more. And what was the deal with all those weird languages in the book? It’s like, ‘Get to the part where Legolas skateboards on that shield,’ right?”

* * * 

It took half an hour for Ben to extricate himself and find April. “Hey, so guess what?” Ben he said when he finally cornered her, “I hate you.”

“Whatever, you’re totally soul-mates,” April said, a smile curling the corner of her lip.

“And this is why I hate these things.”

“I thought you loved stuff like this?” April said. “Gives you chances to make big political speeches.”

“That’s wasn’t…. that’s not me,” Ben said, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know what that was.”

“But you’re still in politics.”

“Yeah, but I don’t talk about it – I mean, not like that.”

“Maybe you should,” April shrugged.

“That doesn’t go so well,” Ben said with an involuntary grimace. He changed the topic. “So how are you? Do you have a place in D.C. yet?”

“Yeah,” April said. “It’s kind of in the middle of town, though; Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“The same street as the White House?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh man, that’s awesome. I mean, the Capitol is just down the hill, and – oh, the Lincoln Memorial is right there.” 

“Yeah, getting excited about politics? Definitely not you.”

“Sorry, I’m… I’m making this about me.” 

April shrugged.

Ben cast about in his mind for more topics, but he came up empty, because he realized that all he knew about April was her job and the fact that she was moving to D.C.. But God, how we wanted to know more – so much more. He didn’t want to end the night knowing nothing more about her than he did the first night he met her. He wanted her to share with him a part of herself and bring home to his apartment that so far only held him.

April took a sip of her cocktail and looked around, trying not to appear bored. The guy who had practically assaulted him with blasphemy about _Lord of the Rings_ was now loudly making out with another guy, braced against the bookshelf across the room. 

Filled with secondhand embarrassment as the sounds of making out filling the silence, Ben’s hurried mind was spun into a panic. But he didn’t know what to say; talking about the weather or sports or anything approaching small talk was death with this girl. 

Ben was afraid she was about to bolt, and he had nothing but the question which would not go away. And so he involuntarily blurted it out: “Have you ever been in love?” 

He hadn’t wanted to say it, but now he didn’t want to take it back, either.

April stopped short, suspended for a moment, regarding Ben. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

Ben was just glad she was staying. “Maybe you could tell me.”

April hesitated. “It was a long time ago.”

“C’mon,” Ben said, bumping her arm playfully. “You can start at the beginning.”

* * * 

“I come from this town in Indiana, named Pawnee. When I was in high school, me and some other kids always hung out at the Denny’s. Sometimes we skipped class and went there, but mostly we hung out after class, and stayed out late – the ones whose parents didn’t care, I mean. So we talked and ate fries and I learned to like black coffee. I listened to Nine Inch Nails for the first time there, on my friend’s MP3 player. 

“Don’t give me shit about Nine Inch Nails. I was 17, okay?

“I liked hanging out with my friends, but I was pretty sick of Pawnee. I mean, it has all the dumb stuff that you hate about small towns. But I guess that’s not really the point.

“So there was this guy who was always there at Denny’s. He was like, 22, maybe 23. He had this dark hair. And yes, he had a leather jacket – I’m aware of clichés. So my friends and I always made up stuff about what his story was. Why he was always there till 2 in the morning, sitting alone, reading or just chilling. We didn’t have much to go on, since he only ever ordered coffee. 

“Anyway, one day my friends are out smoking outside behind the door to the kitchen, and he comes out and he starts talking to me. Not to any of my other friends… just me. It turned out, his name was John. Which I thought was funny, because it’s such a boring name. 

“So every time I went to Denny’s he would start talking to me, and eventually I started sitting with him, while my friends sat in the booth on the other side of the restaurant. We were always talking about dumb stuff, almost like small talk.

“The first time we made out it was in the out-of-order phone booth in the parking lot. 

“The next time, after we paid the check, he put his arm around me and we went to his car, and then his house, and then sat on his futon, and he put on late night infomercials while we fooled around. I would come over after school and we’d smoke weed and make out, and I’d ask him questions and he’d talk. 

“And one afternoon he was acting kind of weird, but I didn’t really think that much about it, because he was always so, you know, mysterious. And he said he’d been thinking all day that he wanted to have sex with me. 

“I liked him. But I’d never had sex, and even though I knew it would happen at some point, it was so sudden. But in a way I just wanted to get over this huge thing, you know? Whatever else was going on, I could at least say that I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. And we did. I guess… I guess that’s not that important to the story. I don’t know. 

“Anyway, one day I wanted to see him so bad, and I skipped school, and came over early. And the door was unlocked, and I came in, and there was this gross chemical smell in the whole house. That’s when I saw all the stuff he used to smoke meth, which he usually kept under the sink in the kitchen. And when came into the kitchen he was angry and paranoid and just so messed up, and he had this awful look in his eyes. 

“I hated that look, I really did. I didn’t realize why at the time, but now I get it. I’d seen the look before; his eyes were exactly the same as the night I lost my virginity. Sometimes I wonder if I knew, that night. 

“I didn’t know what to do, so I called my friends. But I’d kind of been shitty to them ever since I started hanging out with John. Not mean, or anything, just… not there. After a while, they stopped letting me know when they were at Denny’s. Or anything, really. 

“When I did get a hold of them they weren’t surprised. Like, at all. Even though they knew I liked this guy and had been hanging out with him. They never even said anything. And when I asked them for help, they all said they were too busy.

“I tried to help him on my own. I stopped going to school and just stayed with him all day, trying to talk him into not using. God, it was exhausting, because everything I did was for him. And it actually worked. But only when I was there. Whenever I’d leave, I’d come back and it would smell like meth and febreze. 

“I’m gonna cut a lot of stuff out, because this is already a stupidly long story, but eventually he disappeared for a few days and I called the cops, and after a while he turned up in the hospital. I came to see him in his hospital room, but when he woke up he didn’t care that I was there. At all. 

“I called my friends to tell them that I was leaving town, but nobody called me back. The bus station was right by the Denny’s, and the whole time I was waiting for the bus I could see them through the window. They were eating fries and laughing, and they never looked out the window to see me.

The bus took me straight from Pawnee to New York City. So here I am.”

* * * 

Ben had looked away halfway through the story. He hated that this had happened to her, and he hated himself for asking her to relive it. This whole week he had treated her like a leavening relief from the stresses of his job, of the city. Every late train, every shitty memo that Craig wouldn’t write, he tried to get through with the thought that he might get to forget it all when he saw April. Without ever meaning to, he had deputized her to his source of heady enjoyment. But of course her stories told him that she was not _his_ source of anything; she was herself.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, and although she could only know that it was for her past, in his heart it was also for how he had treated her.

“It’s whatever,” April said. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

She was retreating back into herself, and Ben knew she had already talked more than she could possibly feel comfortable doing. It made him a little more grateful to her; a little more guilty for asking; and a little more curious about why she had said it to him, of all people.

“So,” he asked, trying to make sense of everything, of the wounded but brave person he saw before him, “why New York City?”

“I dunno,” April said. “It was the opposite of Pawnee.”

“Huh,” Ben said, thinking.

“What?” 

“I mean, everything you said… it seems like you hate people. And then you came to the city with the most people in the whole country.”

Again Ben thought that perhaps he could convince her to stay. Indeed, if he could offer anything, it was that he, too, knew what it was to leave somewhere in shame. She came to New York City looking for something. Perhaps he could be that, for her, if he was worthy enough.

April shrugged. “Okay, I get the irony. I guess that’s why we’re leaving.”

“We?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, Derek and I.”

“Derek?” Ben asked dumbly.

“You just met him,” April said, gesturing impatiently to the guy still making out with the other guy against the bookshelf. “My boyfriend.”


	4. The Rules

“God it’s hot in here,” Ann said as she entered Ben’s apartment.

“The windows are open,” Ben said. The noise of honking cars and city noise was a quiet soundtrack. “What’s on the menu for this week?”

“Wine coolers. And don’t complain about your masculinity being threatened, deep down I know you love them. What are we eating?”

“I ordered some Thai; should be here soon.”

Ben and Ann had been doing this for months – take-out and liquor on Thursday evenings. After the food got there and they ate and talked best/worst, they settled into their normal routine. They’d watch the only show that both of them could agree on, Agent Carter. After the episode was over, Ben would check the Star Trek message boards on his laptop while Ann got on tumblr with hers. Ann made snarky comments about the Kardashians, and Ben pretended to care, sipping his wine cooler and making non-committal assents. Ann did the same for Ben’s comments on the ranking of starship captains. 

After a while, the exhaustion of the week and the wine coolers kicked in, and Ann was leaning her head against the back of Ben’s couch, listening to the commotion outside.

“Hey,” Ann said, bored but not looking away from her computer, “show me that girl’s Facebook.”

“What girl?” Ben asked, taking a long sip of his wine cooler, trying to cover up the fact that he knew exactly what girl she was talking about.

“You know who I’m talking about,” Ann said, prodding him on the shoulder with her foot. 

“You get way too sassy when you have wine coolers, you know that?” Ben said.

“I do not. And don’t deflect.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “We’re not Facebook friends.”

Ann sat up. “Wait, how many parties have you been to with her?”

“By now? Five or six.”

“So how are you not Facebook friends with her?”

“I haven’t looked her up,” he shrugged.

“I thought you really liked her?”

“I do.” 

“And she likes you, too.”

“She might.”

“So how are you not Facebook friends with her?”

“That’s…” Ben said, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not how it works.” Somehow, over the last few parties, Ben and April had developed a kind of routine. And that routine had very definite boundaries. “I can’t just friend her on Facebook. There are… rules,” Ben said.

“Wait, she gave you—“

“No, unspoken rules. Unspoken.”

Ann leaned back. “Huh.”

“It’s not that weird,” Ben said defensively.

“Mmhm. So what are the rules?”

“I don’t know… I mean, we don’t friend each other on Facebook, even though we have three mutual friends.”

“OK.”

“And we don’t try to get each other to go to parties. Even though we mention which ones we’ll be going to.”

“Right.

“And we never call each other to arrange to hang out just the two of us.”

“So what do you talk about?”

“Over the phone? Nothing. We don’t even text each other.”

“But you have her number?” Ann asked.

“Yeah,” Ben said, producing his phone. Her name was atop the screen, but there were no texts between them, the screen empty.

“OK, so… why?”

Ben avoided looking at Ann. “I guess she has a boyfriend. She has a boyfriend.” He wondered if he was repeating it to drive home the point to Ann, or to himself. 

“OK,” Ann said softly. She tried to catch his eye. “Hey… Ice Town,” she said gently.

“Yeah?” Ben said, sighing.

“There’s an amazing woman out there, and she’s going to have a boyfriend, but that’s going to be you.” 

Ben chuckled. “Thanks,” he said, smiling. He put a hand on her shoulder, grateful.

Ann smiled back, before muttering, “One that’s not twenty-two.”

“Yeah, no more wine coolers for you.”


	5. Not Enough Hours in the Night

Since he arrived at the party all Ben could think of doing was leaving. When Sophie told him about the party earlier in the week, he had been just as conflicted about it. And now, standing here alone, pretending to be interested in the books on the bookshelf in the living room while every other person was talking boisterously, he had no idea why he was here. 

April wasn’t going to show up. And even if she did, what would be the point? She had a boyfriend, and that meant that his presence here could only be embarrassing.

He was so angry at himself. He had tried for so long at being careful, so that things like this didn’t happen. And he had done well, he really had. But here he was, oblivious to the fact that everything was falling apart, and oblivious to all the warning signs he should have seen. She was too young for him. She was moving. She had a boyfriend. 

And yet here he was. Typically pathetic. You could take him out of Ice Town, but you couldn’t take Ice Town out of him.

“Ben!” For a second, despite all that chastisement, Ben’s heart rose. 

When he saw her he was relieved. It was Sophie. 

“I can’t believe you came. I didn’t know that you knew anybody here besides me.”

“I know a couple people,” Ben lied. “Oh,” he tried to say casually, “do you know if your friend is coming? I think her name is April.”

“April Ludgate? Huh.”

“What?” Ben said.

“Nothing. It’s just, I’m kind of surprised you would want to talk to her. I mean, she’s great, she’s really great, but … you’re so serious. And she doesn’t care about anything.”

Ben shook his head a little too vehemently for the charade he’d been putting on. “No, I don’t think that’s true at all.”

Sophie regarded him for a second before catching herself. “Well she’s in the kitchen.”

Despite his doubts, Ben he found himself in the kitchen, while April helped herself to a beer from the fridge. “Hey,” she said warmly, and passed him her beer before taking another for herself.

Somehow Ben felt all the more uncomfortable from the warmth in that greeting, even less sure with where he stood.

“I guess I’m kind of surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Why’s that?” Ben asked, kind of tired of hearing that.

April averted her gaze. “I dunno. Last time I kind of… overshared. About Pawnee,” she said. 

“Oh, no,” Ben said, concerned. “I’m glad we talked. Really.”

April shrugged. “People here don’t like hearing about that sort of thing.”

And again, that part of Ben just couldn’t help himself, as he asked: “What about Derek?”

“What about him?” April said, but didn’t wait for Ben to respond. “I mean, he’s a good boyfriend. We have a good time together. Hell, he’s leaving New York to go with me. We just…. We don’t always talk about that kind of thing.”

Ben nodded, and tried not to look like he’s driving a wedge between April and her boyfriend. 

Because he wasn’t trying to do that. At least, he didn’t think so.

* * * 

They moved to the couch on the living room, and for the next few hours they tried new beers and talked about the city – mostly about how much April hated it. The people who filtered in and out of the room come in varying combinations, each of them finding someone new to talk to. But they talked only to each other, too engrossed to notice anyone else.

By late evening Ben was slumped against the back of the couch and April was leaning her head against the thick, wooly armrest, knees bent and feet tucked into the cushion Ben was sitting on. The burgeoning sounds of Manhattan coming alive outside flowed into the living room, mingling with the playlist that was on.

“Okay, so I have to ask you,” Ben said softly, “what did you mean earlier?”

“About what?” April said, even though Ben thought she had an idea of what he meant.

“About Derek. What did you mean when you said that he couldn’t talk about things with you?

“Do you have someone you talk to about everything?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “My best friend, Ann. We tell each other everything. She helps keep me honest.”

“You’re lucky,” April said simply.

“Well, it sucks, sometimes. Somebody who holds you to being your best self. But even when we fight, I know she has my back.”

April nodded. “Do you think I’d like her?”

“For some reason I think…. No, not at all,” Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “But you didn’t answer the question. What did you mean when you said he couldn’t talk about things with you?”

“I don’t want you to think he isn’t nice to me,” April said.

“I don’t.”

“He’s just… He kind of makes fun of everything, you know? Sometimes it’s like all he knows how to be is snarky. Any time something serious comes up, he makes a dumbass joke. I don’t think he even knows that he’s doing it. But I’ve just stopped bringing up stuff like that.”

Ben knew immediately how it would sound if he agreed, if he encouraged her discontent. He tried to do the opposite. “Maybe it’s just a defense mechanism,” he suggested. “Maybe it just hurts too much to talk about it.”

“I don’t think so,” April said, severely. “He’s lucky. Nothing that bad has ever happened to him. That’s why he’s able to be that way. That’s the only way you’re able to not care about anything.”

Ben nodded for a second. “You know, Sophie thinks the same thing about you.”

April shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly looking vulnerable. “Do you think that?”

Ben sat up. “No. I think you care about things, a lot, actually.”

“So why does she think that?” 

Ben thought about how hard it was for April to show it; Ben thought about the costs; Ben thought about how sometimes caring about something just blows up in your face. “We both know why,” he said softly.

April turned back to him. “Really? I mean, you have this job in Manhattan. When I was still obsessing over who would take me to prom you were Mayor of your town.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t exactly end well.” Ben said it with enough pain in his voice, enough bitterness, that April didn’t need to ask about it.

“So you know how it is,” April said.

“Yeah,” Ben said, realizing that whether April had a boyfriend or not, he had a place in her life. “I know how it is.”

* * * 

April led them from the quiet of the elevator through the lobby, and once she opened the silent doors the churning turbulence of New York flooded around them. Ben had almost forgotten that it was a Friday night, and he struggled to follow April as she made through the countervailing crowds. 

Ben pursued her through the exited the bustle of the street and found himself in a narrow brick alley, sharp shadows in a thicket of crimson from neon signs along the windows. It was nearly empty aside from a few people milling around an unmarked door. 

“Is this it?” Ben asked. 

“No. Just a second,” April said, waiting patiently.

In a few seconds the alley was filled with throbbing music as the door opened and a string of women filed out. April caught the door, and grabbed Ben’s hand, pulling him in. 

The club was nothing but darkness and smoke and bass, and Ben was pulled through the crush of bodies and up to the bar. April got the attention of the bartender easily (maybe he recognized her?) and she yelled something inaudible over the speakers. Two tequila shots were placed on the bar, and April picked one up. 

Ben picked up his with great reluctance. “Is this really your kind of place?” he yells, even though he’s barely half a foot from her. “There’s an awful lot of people here.”

“That’s the thing,” April yelled back, “it’s too loud for them to talk to you.” She looked down at her tequila and bit her lip, and for a second Ben didn’t see anything else in the club but that. 

After she takes the shot, Ben looked down at his, and could only think to himself, fuck it, and he took the shot, too. The sharp burning of tequila wasn’t exactly pleasant, but somehow it fit the heat and the noise and the proximity. Especially the proximity to April.

She motioned in the direction of the dance floor, and Ben nodded, and put an emboldened hand on her lower back to keep track of her as they move through the crowd.

The dance floor was a roving mass of undulating bodies, and the most space they could find was a few feet for the two of them. It was all they needed, and as the DJ started the next song, April closed her eyes and began to dance. He wondered how she can do this, and as soon as he did he knew this doesn’t happen every day for her. A day like this only happened once in a while. It’s just that April knew what to do when it comes along. 

Ben started to dance, too. Or he tried to – he didn’t really dance, so it was awkward. But he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would, and for once he got the attraction of clubs like this. The usual anxieties were fading, owing to the darkness and the lack of attention by everyone else; the alcohol did, too. 

Eventually Ben’s self-consciousness wore off entirely. The beat was infectious, and soon it was taking over, his consciousness falling away into the rhythm. Pop songs Ben would never listen to suddenly made sense, centered on the beat alone, driving him on. 

One hypnotic song seamlessly drifted into a louder, more insistent one, and April picked up the pace. Her hands raised above her head, she raked her hair with her right hand as the left reached toward the sky. Ben watched her unwaveringly, her head bobbing in motion with the deepest melody. As the song crescendoed, April was framed by strobe lights, illuminating her features in pale white light against the scattered darkness of the club. Each still frame showed a different angle, a different expression, all part of the same story, her features at peace, her bangs shiny and dark with sweat clinging to her forehead, her entire being totally enveloped in music. 

As the song faded out, replaced by something less remarkable, April slumped down in fatigue and braced herself against his shoulder. Ben’s hands found their way to her sides.

“I like dancing with you,” she said, almost a whisper, but so close to his ear that it drowned out the music of the club. He could tell that she had needed this release – from the party, from the plans for DC, from the anxiety. 

“I like dancing with you, too,” he said. 

Only once he said it did he comprehend how deeply it failed to convey what he felt. He didn’t just like dancing with her. There weren’t enough hours in the night for this. No matter how long this would last, no matter how many songs would be played, it wouldn’t be enough.

* * * 

Even once they got to the subway, the bass from the club was still thumping in Ben’s ears, and the dancing and the music and the extra shots they had done made him feel off balance, and he braced himself against a column in the station.

Before he knew it the train was there, but at this hour everyone was unevenly spaced and there are no two seats next to each other. 

So Ben and April sat opposite each other. It was too late, and too quiet on the train, to talk to each other like this. So they didn’t say anything. The yellow lights on the train were weak, and in the darkness of the tunnels everyone’s faces were illuminated by the faint white light of the phones they stared down at. Except for Ben and April, their eyes reflecting the warm light of the subway, and somewhere in the reflection, was each other.

When it was her stop, she got up, and looked back at him. April didn’t say goodbye, or even smile, but she lingered. Neither of them said anything, unwilling to declare any meaning for this moment, too engrossed by the possibilities of what it all could be.

* * * 

Once Ben stumbled back to his apartment, he dialed Ann’s number. “Hey,” he mumbled into his phone, holding it against the side of his face like an ice pack.

“Ben? What’s wrong?” Ben felt bad for worrying Ann, but only for a second. This was important.

“You need to ask out Chris.”

“You called me at 2 in the morning to—“

“I know, but listen, just listen.” Nothing else mattered right then, aside from Ann hearing this. “You could ask Chris out and he would say yes. He’d say yes, he’s right there, Ann. And you think you have time but you don’t, because it can slip away as soon as you realize you want it. So look: he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere, and you could be with him. You’re so lucky, Ann. So just do it, OK? Promise me you will.”

For a second the line on the other end was silent, and in his drunkenness Ben wondered if he accidentally hung up on her. 

But then she spoke. “I will. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” Ben slurred, all his energy gone.

“Hey,” Ann said on the other end of the line. “Drink some coconut water and get in bed.” 

“OK,” Ben nodded pointlessly.

“OK. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Ben said, and it felt so strange, because when he smiled there were tears that had reached the upturned corners of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from the song Ben and April dance to in the club: “More Than You” by Class Actress.


	6. Wanderer, Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from the song of the same name by Slow Club.

The next Tuesday, Ben didn’t want to go home after work. He wandered around the financial district for a while before making his way uptown. For the first few blocks he looked around, and people-watched when he waited at crosswalks for the signal. But he eventually put his head down, his gaze upon the sidewalk strewn with newspapers, discarded parking tickets, a rumpled piece of a child’s artwork with a wet shoeprint across it. 

He wasn’t sure he would even make it to Central Park, but he didn’t mind. He just walked, the car-horns and chatter fading into a soft soundtrack. 

“Ben?”

He looked up. It was Ann. “What are you doing in Midtown?”

He tried to smile, and reached to hug her. “Just out doing errands,” he lied.

Ann hugged him, and immediately drew back. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice all concern and empathy.

Ben just looked away. “Nothing,” he said.

They stood there for a moment, as the crowd flowed around them, like the river around an island.

Ann tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She nodded slowly. “You need to keep walking, huh?”

For the first time since she stopped him, Ben was honest. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Come home when you get tired.”

“Okay,” Ben said, and turned away from her, and kept walking. He wanted to look back, and see if she had gone on her own way, too. He hoped she had. He hoped she wasn’t standing there, looking at him walk away. 

He looked back, and she was gone. 

It was then Ben knew what she was someone who understood, someone who was a real friend. It wasn’t just best/worst and late nights browsing the internet and lunches out; it was the other thing, the thing he knew he could only appreciate now: the lonely comradery. 

* * *

Later that week, when Ann came over on Thursday, she was sitting on the couch on her second wine cooler. “I kind of wish I could meet her,” Ann said.

“Think she’d meet your standards?” Ben said, gesturing to her with his wine cooler.

“I’m not sure. I mean, she’s flirting with you when she’s with Darrell.”

“Derek,” Ben corrected her. 

“Wait, her boyfriend’s name is Derek?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, surprised, “Why?”

“Oh shit! Oh shit. He’s the Derek who knows Sophie! I totally know about him.”

“You do? How?”

“He knows Katie from the ER.”

“Jesus,” Ben says, “how does everyone in a city this big know each other?”

“She says he’s a real shithead.”

“Seriously? I kind of got that feeling. Once he started talking to me about how—wait, you know what, I don’t want to know.”

“What do you mean?” Ann asked. “The girl you like is dating a guy and you don’t want to know about him?”

“No, I don’t,” Ben said. 

“But he’s an assho—“

“I don’t want to know,” Ben shook his head wryly. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“It’s not crazy that she’s with him,” Ben said. “I mean, it makes sense, if you know where she’s coming from.”

“It does?” Ann asked. “I mean, he doesn’t seem to take anything seriously. He just mocks everyone in this superior, more-hipster-than-thou way.”

Ben nodded sadly. “Well, sometimes the things that attract us to someone annoy us about them, too. Okay, that’s vague, but, yeah, he doesn’t take anything seriously. And when people do take something seriously, that’s just an opportunity for him to judge them. But I get why April is with him. Sometimes caring about something just fucks you up. Especially when it doesn’t go well. Especially when it depends on other people.”

“Are we talking about you or her?” Ann asked quietly.

“It doesn’t matter. Look, the bottom line is… if he’s a ‘shithead’ then maybe I should be with her instead of him. And I don’t really want to think about that.”

“I don’t blame you,” Ann said. “For wanting to keep it as it is.”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “It is what it is,” he breathed out. 

“You say that, you always do, but…”

“But what?” Ben wondered.

“It’s not the way you act. I’m just worried you’re getting too invested with this. Look, that night you called me, a few days ago when I ran into you in midtown….”

Ben was shaking his head. “Look, you’re the one who is always giving me a push. Who always wants me to put myself out there.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” Ann said. “I’m worried you’re making this a bigger thing than it is–”

“I’m managing my expectations,” Ben cut her off, a little less polite this time.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he said bitterly. He wished he didn’t have to manage his expectations. But he was. God, he was.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m protective of you, but I’m worried that she’s jerking you around. What if she really doesn’t care about anything? What if all this doesn’t really do anything for her?”

“Well maybe it does something for me!” Ben shouted. It was the first time he’d shouted around Ann. It was the first time he’d shouted at Ann.

Ann’s eyes were hurt, hiding all kinds of thoughts about who he was.

Ben continued, his voice pulsating with restrained tension: “This doesn’t happen to me. You don’t get it because you’re beautiful, and every guy who sees you wants to be with you.” Ann started to interject; he cut her off. “You don’t think so. I understand. But that’s the way it is. And I know it has its downsides. But… But you just have to see things from my perspective. Just a little, OK? I go to work and I come home and I look at my laptop, and that’s it for me. And I live in the city that has the most beautiful, successful, confident women in the world, and they don’t see me. And that’s OK. I know that women don’t owe me anything. And if I was them, I wouldn’t see me either… But this girl does.”

For a long time, Ann was silent. Then she faced Ben, to say as clearly as she could: “Someone else will see you. I promise they will.”

Ben smiled, sadly. He loved Ann for thinking that it would happen; that her admiration of him would somehow be contagious. He loved her for thinking that there were people in this city who will feel the same way that April does.

“I hope so,” he said. He hedged his words because he couldn’t quite bring himself to agree with her prediction. But he could hope, at least. Ann gave him that, and April did, too.


	7. The Lonely Comradery

Ben wandered around the party for a few minutes, exchanging awkward nods and refilling his drink unnecessarily. He started to wonder if April would come to the party at all, or if he would stay here until it was acceptable to leave, and walk home alone, his consciousness flooded with thoughts of missed opportunity. A short Indian guy was proclaiming with far too much authority and enthusiasm what restaurant reviews were saying about the best “apps” and “zerts” in Asian restaurants in Greenwich Village. At that moment time seemed too slow and the party too close, and he made for the fire escape to get some air.

Once he was on the fire escape, he could breathe, and he surveyed the dark office buildings all around him, occasional square windows illuminated by light, but otherwise monolithic and gray against the dark sky. From around the block he could hear the shouts of crowds near Madison Square Garden against the backdrop of car horns.

There was a break in the din, and the absence was filled by the light breeze in the warm night, and then quiet, muffled sobs to his right. Slumped against the railing with her elbows around her knees, almost invisible in the darkness, was April.

She looked up at him, and quickly rested her head in the crook of her arms. In the faint yellow of reflected city lights, he could barely see wide tracks of tears descending from red eyes.

Ben sat down next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest, too, as if in a show of solidarity.

“Bad day,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah,” she scoffed.

They sat there next to each other for a while, until the noises of the city were drowned out by the bass of the newest song on the playlist inside.

“Are you sure you want to be at a party right now?” Ben asked quietly.

From the inside he could hear the Indian guy loudly proclaim: “Those wantons were so tender! I was like, ‘Dim sum? More like, _damn son_!’”

He wasn’t looking at April – he was staring at the same brick wall she was – but he could feel hear shrug next to him. 

“I dunno,” she said, “I came because if I went home I’d be alone, and if I went to Derek’s he would just joke about—I mean, he wouldn’t understand. 

Ben nodded; April was looking at the brick wall in front of them, but he could tell that she felt it.

“So,” Ben started, “that’s actually what I came for, too. I thought I might see someone who I could talk to, who would stay with me, even if it was a bad day. Even if no one else would.”

They sat there for a while longer. 

“You want to talk about it?” Ben ventured.

April laughed mirthlessly. “No, actually. Not at all.”

“You want to get drunk?”

“Fuck yes,” April said.

“There’s a bar a few blocks from here,” Ben said, standing up.

April started, then faltered. “Actually,” she said, looking up at Ben, exhausted, “I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with the streets right now. Those dumbass MSG crowds and dudes catcalling me and all that stupid New York City bullshit.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said reassuringly, offering his hand, “I know a shortcut.”

* * * 

Ben took April down an alley which let out to a stairway, and as they rose above the street they found themselves on the narrow, garden-rimmed platform of the High Line.

“This was an old elevated rail line,” Ben explained, the tracks covered and the gardens lit with golden lights. “The city’s trying not to blow through the budget all at once, so they’re turning into a walking park in stages.”

They started walking south, April reaching out to brush the low plants, glowing in the warm light, as they passed. 

The tracks curved, and they walked alone, far above the crowds and noise. 

April slowed, and Ben hung back, waiting for her decision.

“It’s quiet here,” April said, and looked at the nearby bench. 

She sat down, and Ben joined her, yellow and purple flowers behind them, and skyscrapers towering into the light-speckled darkness in front.

They never made it to the bar.

* * *

For a long time they sat in silence, until April exhaled: “You probably want to know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I want to know what’s going on,” Ben said honestly. “But that’s me. This isn’t about me. I want to stay here until you feel better. We don’t have to talk for the rest of the night, if it helps.”

For another moment they sat in silence. 

“I wish I had met you when I first came to New York,” April whispered.

“Me too,” Ben said softly.

April gathered her strength. “My mom called. Never a good sign,” she said. “I guess shit’s been going on with Natalie and a week ago, she, umm,” April struggled, “she checked into rehab.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, knowing what this meant for April.

“We only heard about it because it got really bad,” April said. “I didn’t even know she had started to try anything...”

“It’s okay,” Ben said.

“She’s such a monosyllabic, emotionless little brat, and she gets on my nerves so much …” April was lost. Her voice quivered. “She’s my little sister.”

“Hey,” Ben said gently, “You’re going to be in DC in a couple of weeks. And even if you were there now, you might not even be able to see her.”

“But maybe I could,” April’s voice strained under the control she was trying to exert, “and she’s probably scared, and she’s all alone, and I’m not there.”

Ben nodded, trying not to show how he ached for her. How more than anything else since he could remember this moment was tearing him apart inside. 

He tried to muster the courage to speak as quickly as he could. “You’re going to be there for her,” Ben said, his voice showing a confidence he hoped she couldn’t tell was fragile. “And I know you can help her. If something happened, I know I’d want you there with me.”

April sniffed, but Ben didn’t dare turn to her to see if she was crying.

For a long time, they sat in silence.

“I’m having a going away party at Megan’s next Thursday,” April said.

For a moment it almost didn’t register that she was leaving so soon. All he could think was that she was asking him to be there.

“Oh yeah?” Ben said, in as noncommittal a tone as he could gather.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m just telling you what I’m doing that day.”

April wasn’t inviting him. That would be breaking the rules. 

But she was skirting so, so close.

“I’m… I’m glad I know that,” he said quietly. “I think I might be in that neighborhood that day.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

From his peripheral vision he thought he saw her nod, and he felt her slump against the back of the bench, her shoulder almost touching his. Ben could sense with his whole body the mere inch which separated her from him. 

He placed his hand between them, his fingers almost brushing the side of her leg. He wondered if she could see him. She shifted her weight, her thigh almost touching his palm.

They watched as the lights in the building in front of them slowly turned off. One, in the top left corner, then another on the same level, then another below it, a slow cascade like glistening rain, until all forty stories were dark grey against the darker night. The only lights were scattered in the park all around them, their bodies casting shadows that met and overlapped and mingled without clear borders. 

But despite the shadows the gulf between them stood, and Ben sat next to April, close enough to want her, but not close enough to be hers.


	8. Everything

When Ann got to his apartment that weekend she was exactly on time. It felt weird. Usually she was early, or late – it didn’t matter. It had always been understood that they would show up when they would. They had both earned the right to make demands on each other’s time.

But not tonight. Tonight she was exactly on time. 

“Hello,” she said. 

“Hey,” Ben said. 

She had brought her own dinner with her. “I wasn’t sure if we’d be in the mood for the same thing,” she said flatly.

“Okay,” Ben said. He would order something for just him, then.

Ann sat down at the table and opened up her to-go box of lo mein. Ben sat across from her. “What did you want to watch tonight?” Ann asked. 

“I…” Ben trailed off, taken aback. The first question they asked each other was always best/worst. “I’m up for whatever,” he said. “So any updates on Chris?”

“He’s got an appointment for later this week,” Ann said. Then she changed the subject: “So how’s work?” 

Ben just sat there, studying her, until Ann looked up from her noodles, chopsticks in hand. “What?” she asked, quietly.

Ben softened. “I’m sorry I blew up at you last time. I don’t like it when we disagree about things. It makes me feel far from you, and I wish I didn’t right now.”

Ann put down her chopsticks. “It’s okay. I just figured we should start off on more… neutral territory. You know?”

“I know,” Ben said. “But I want to be able to tell you things. And vice versa.”

Ann nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes it’s just hard.” 

“I’m sorry if you thought I was calling you bossy. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I’m just… sensitive. Because I really do want you to come out of your shell, and experience New York, and put yourself out there. But what if you finally do it, and you put all of your hopes into this girl who is too young for you, and who’s leaving? I’m worried it’ll be even worse than before. You’re already… you have this wall up. And it’s taken me a long time to get to where I can see over the edge of it. And I need your friendship too much to go back to the beginning, where all I had was Ice Town Ben.” 

“I don’t want that to happen, either,” Ben said, coming to know its full force right then. “But right now April’s the person who is giving me a reason to leave Ice Town behind. You see that, right?”

Ann couldn’t quite bring herself to agree. She just sighed. “I don’t want to feel far from you,” she said, changing the topic again. “So tell me. What happened with April this week?”

* * *

“And I’ve been to the highline before, but that night it was just so gorgeous. We had this bench where we could see all of midtown, and I never noticed how tall the buildings are there, and how they look against the night sky. And even though I was so sad, and she was crying, everything was so… beautiful.”

He turned to Ann to see if she felt what he felt; but she looked at him with only a measured regard. 

He tried to shrug it off. “And then I took the R home.”

“Did she ride with you? Like that other night.”

“No,” Ben said. “I was alone.”

“You spent a lot of time thinking about this, didn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ann sighed.

“Okay,” Ben said, “but she was right there next to me, and our shoulders were almost touching and she didn’t move away. I know, I know, it sounds like some middle school level flirting, but it’s been so long since I’ve been close like that. And when I was there I wasn’t thinking about work, or the election, or anything else.” Ben paused, realizing something. “I feel like everything I do is for something the next day, or the next week. But everything that happened was about being there, next to her, watching her eyes as she watched the city, right then.”

“You sound surprised,” Ann said.

“I don’t know. I guess I always figured that, before I found someone like her, I would have to be… better. You know, get my life together, get everything behind me.”

“I don’t know much, Ice Town, but I know this. You can’t wait until things are perfect to look for someone.”

“Not perfect, but… under control, you know?”

She looked at Ben ruefully. “You’re going to tell her everything, aren’t you?”

“What? I didn’t say I was going to—“

“But you are.”

Ben didn’t realize it was true until Ann said it.

“I…” Ben said, but just shook his head, and didn’t finish. He couldn’t. 

“I’ll be here for you,” Ann said, “no matter what.”

Ann’s words were supposed to be a statement of her love, but they sounded like a premonition of failure.

“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this one. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!


	9. What It Is

The party was maddening in its endless mediocrity. Like all the other parties this summer, it was filled with younger and cooler people than him, but unlike all the other nights of awkward small talk and thumbing through his phone, they somehow insisted on speaking to him. And so he tried to talk to them, ask them questions, and be there – when all he wanted to do was to find her.

But instead of listening to their words, he spent his time trying to decipher how they figured into April’s life. The young hipster couple; the coworker; the utterly silent goth guy who stood in the shadows of the corner in a way that deeply unsettled Ben. Did she really like them, or were they just acquaintances? Did they even know her? Had they somehow, even if not by name, heard about him?

When he was in the middle of explaining the new way of formulating the city budget, he spotted April across the room. As he spoke, he focused on her, and as if by the mere fact of his thinking about her, she looked up to see him.

The couple kept asking him questions about whether he had met Mayor DeBlasio, and what Ben thought about stop and frisk. Occasionally he would catch April looking at him, and in a way imperceptible to anyone but her, he would shrug. 

It went on like that, neither of them freed up long enough to find the other, to the point that it became a private, silent joke between them, told in knowing looks delivered across a noisy room. 

He excused himself to the bathroom, and listening to the muffled sounds of the party behind the door, looked at a text from Ann.

 **I just asked out Chris. He said yes.**

Ben couldn’t help but grin. And then a second later:

**If you think this isn’t just for the summer, then go find her.**

**Love you.**

Ben stuffed the phone in his pocket, and suddenly stood up straighter. This whole day, the whole party, he had only wanted to come to April to speak to her. He had no idea what he would say; he only that knew he had to see her. But now he had something to say to her, something that might turn this summer into something more.

When he exited and went back to the living room, he felt hand on his shoulder – a hand whose weight and warmth he’s never felt – and found April next to him.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly awkward and rigid and drymouthed. He tried to shake it off. “This is a nice party. I like the people, your friends.”

“Yeah,” April said, a little shyly, “they’re cool I guess.” 

He thought maybe she didn’t just mean them.

“Umm,” she said, “can I talk to you? For a second?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ben said, swallowing.

He followed April through the narrow side hallway and into the only unoccupied room in the party – the bathroom. There amongst the crowded tile and cheap shower curtain, April closed the door behind them.

He thought that now was the time. This was the moment. 

“Sorry, I just needed to see you alone,” she said.

Ben nodded too quickly, realizing all at once: he wasn’t going to have to tell her. She was going to tell him. 

“Umm, so,” April began, tucking hair behind her ear as she avoided Ben’s gaze, even in the tiny bathroom, “I just wanted to say thanks.” 

And in that second Ben wasn’t thinking of everything he could finally say to her. He was thinking only of how final she made that sound. “For what?” Ben said.

“I’ve kind of gotten sick of the city. But this summer wasn’t actually too bad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really want to get out of here. And I need to see Natalie. But I thought I’d be glad to leave, and in a way I’m… not. So now I feel bad for leaving, and I guess I should, umm, thank you. For making it suck.”

Ben knew then that his hope – that she would confess her feelings in a heartfelt monologue – wasn’t going to happen. That wasn’t her, at all. But he wanted it so badly he thought maybe it was. “Maybe New York isn’t so bad,” Ben said, shrugging like he didn’t care, but trying to get her to agree. Trying to get her to feel the weight of the reason to stay. Ben wanted so badly to bring her close and to kiss her. To show her.

April looked at him, as if getting up her courage: “I mean, you’re here. And I like thinking about how you’re going to be here, just being you, making this place better when I’m gone.”

Everything slowed down with those three words: _When I’m gone_. 

The lingering remnants of Ben’s hope disintegrated around those words, and once it was gone the floor felt as if it was about to fall from under him.

But then there was a pause, and somehow it didn’t. 

Because he finally saw what April was trying to say: This meant something, even though it was coming to a close. Her own life was full and complicated and so much of it wasn’t about him. But this summer meant something to her. 

Ben got – really got – what Ann had tried to help him see: It didn’t have to last forever to be good.

April loved the summer for what it was, and didn’t spend it wishing it was something else.

Ben stepped forward, and gently touched the side of her face, his thumb grazing the curve of her cheek. She looked up, into his eyes. And in that moment, Ben transformed his desire to kiss her lips into a singular need to embrace her, and so he crushed her into a hug, trying to press a part of her into him, something to carry with him from here.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m going to remember this summer.” 

“For a long time?” she pleaded quietly, clutching him tightly, resting her forehead against his collar bone.

“For the rest of my life,” he said.

And as they disentangled, she looked at his lips a little too long, and then nervously tucked her arms back against her sides. He thought she might say something more, but instead she unlocked the door, the knob ratting with her shaking hands, and slipped out.

Ben stood in the bathroom, the look April gave him lingering amongst the muffled silence.

After a second he felt control return to his limbs, and stepped out of the bathroom as the music and the conversation and the crowded apartment hit him all at once. 

It was impossible not to look at the people here and see the parts of April that he’d never know. But he was so, so grateful for the parts of her that he did know, and as he made his way through the couples talking he realized that he couldn’t stop smiling.

He took a breath and headed for the door. On the way out, April’s boyfriend caught his eye, and as they made eye contact Ben nodded to him, suddenly filled with gratitude for anything he did to make April’s life better. He found the door, jogged down the stairs, and rushed the few short blocks through Tribeca before he was on the Brooklyn Bridge.

He slowed down, trying to revel in this feeling, strolling by as the evening runners passed him and the setting sun glistened off of the East River. And as the day came to a close, he thought about how he’d get to have dinner with Ann and Chris. He thought about how this was the last day he’d ever see April Ludgate. But somehow he didn’t think about the days after this one; he only thought about the nights he spent with her, the brief moments he would think of for weeks afterwards. He knew when this started that April would only spend the summer here. Because, in the end, it is what it is.

And what it is, is wonderful.


End file.
